


something to believe in

by kagseyamas



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Jack is a bicon, M/M, Making Out, Mentions of graphic violence, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Touch-Starved, its all era-typical, the lack of jackcrutchie fics in the newsies fandom is literally so tragic, theyre in love you cowards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 08:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15263742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagseyamas/pseuds/kagseyamas
Summary: “What the hell’s the matter with you!” he gritted out, storming into his room and shutting the door behind them.Crutchie’s eyes felt tired. He didn’t have the energy to fight, but the bitterness in his chest drove him to snap, “Nothin’! It ain’t none of your business, it’s between me and Katherine. Why do you evencare, anyhow?”“Because you was rude to ‘er, that’s why!” Jack spat after a moment or two of looking taken aback. “What’s got into you, Crutchie, you been like the damn Antichrist for months! She didn’t mean no harm and you know it.”





	something to believe in

**Author's Note:**

> look....i know its canon that jack sleeps with the rest of the guys in the movie but hear me out......what if he didnt. also writing dialogue for newsies is super hard u have to forget everything you know about grammar

They had been sitting in Jacobi’s deli below the boarding house drinking glasses of free tap water, not because they were thirsty, but because it was raining out, and it was either there, or the church. Elmer had been complaining recently that the nuns had been pressuring him to join the choir, so it went unspoken now, but the church was off-limits. Crutchie wouldn’t have minded staying out in the rain, if he didn’t get sick so easily. He loved the way the pelting drops drowned everything else out.

“They say I’s got the voice of an angel,” Elmer boasted, grinning proudly.

“Is they deaf?” Racetrack replied, shoving his cigar back between his lips and earning a smack on the shoulder and a few boisterous laughs.

“You's just jealous ‘cos ya sing like a dyin’ bird,” Elmer retorted indignantly.

The door swung open, releasing a burst of wind and rain into the building, and a few shouts of protest rang out through the deli as Katherine shut the door behind her, wiping away the hair that was plastered to her face.

“Morning boys!” she grinned, seemingly unfazed by the fact that she looked like a rinsed poodle.

“Jack, ya lady’s here,” Albert said quite loudly, paired with a few wolf-whistles and laughs.

Crutchie watched the way Katherine blushed and ducked her head, regretting the unpleasant heat of his own face. It had been unnecessary, really, for Albert to announce it, because Jack had been right there when she walked in, sitting backwards on his chair at Crutchie’s table and dealing cards. When the attention was drawn to him, he gave her a small smile and a wave.

“Uh, hi Kathy.”

 _Huh_. They were usually a lot more affectionate than _that_. Then again, when (if) Crutchie ever found a girl of his own, he couldn’t imagine himself being affection around her in front of others. The very thought alone caused him to cringe inwardly.

“Hi, Jack,” she said briefly, with a courteous smile. “And actually, I’m not here to see him, I’m here to speak to you, Crutchie.”

She was meeting his eyes now, and he felt a jolt of shock. She hardly ever spoke to him anymore. Sure, they had interacted during and after the strike, but now that she wasn’t covering their story anymore she hadn’t had much of a reason to hang around, unless she was waiting for Jack in some shape or form. Even then, he couldn’t think of a reason she would want to speak to Crutchie directly.

She made her way through the deli until she got to their table, before planting herself in the empty chair on Crutchie’s other side. The rest of the boys had resumed their regular chatter, harassing and mocking Jacobi for his idioms. Jack, Davey, Specs and Romeo, who were also seated at their table, exchanged curious looks between themselves. Crutchie felt his face go red.

“Do you want us to leave you guys alone?” Davey said carefully, and Katherine shook her head.

“Sorry, don’t let me interrupt your game. This’ll just take a moment.”

Jack watched them for another moment, before going back to dealing his cards.

“So, uh,” Crutchie began, an awful pit of anxiety and anticipation in his stomach, one he couldn’t quite analyse yet, “what can I do for ya, Katherine?”

“Well,” she said, her face glowing bright with enthusiasm, “ _I_ have a proposition for _you_ , Crutchie Morris.”

He frowned. “A proposition? For what?”

She glanced around them and lowered her voice so as not to cause any disturbances. “You see, I was wondering if I could interview you for an article. About the Refuge.”

His stomach dropped at the words. He felt Jack shift next to him. None of the others spoke, pretending to be engrossed in their game as they listened, but Crutchie couldn’t even tear his wide eyes away from Katherine to check their expressions.

“What? Why?” he said quietly.

She didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, because her eyes still sparkled as she beamed. “Well I was thinking about how popular Jack’s drawings of it were, and how engrossed with the story the public were. I bet that if I wrote a full-length feature article on it—with your permission, of course—that people would go _wild_ for it. It might even be my next big hit! I mean, folks _love_ reading about the gory details, and you were the last one to experience it before it got shut down, so it’s still fresh in your mind!”

 _Too fresh in my mind_ , he thought. He didn’t have his own room, like Jack. He slept in the same dorm as the rest of the boys most of the nights, and they all knew very well how he woke up almost every night in a cold sweat, or in tears, or shrieking for help. Crutchie wasn’t exactly alone in his nightmares; some of the other newsies had faced extreme traumas and abuse before they’d left home. No one judged him, and they tried to help as best as they could, but it was all the more embarrassing because it was _him_. _He_ was supposed to be the cheery one.

That was why he didn’t talk about the Refuge. Not while he was awake, anyway.

“I, uh...” He didn’t want to reject her—that would be rude. But he didn’t want to discuss the matter, either.

“It doesn’t have to be a full interview, if you don’t want,” she said then. “I could just get a few statements from you. About the hygiene there—and didn’t Jack say you rarely got any food?” Crutchie shot a look of betrayal at Jack, but he was ducking his head. “I-if you could just say something about how they beat you—”

“I’m sorry, Katherine,” he said, trying to remain apologetic in his demeanor, “maybe you should try asking someone else. I’m not really comfortable with—”

“But it has to be _you_!” she insisted, growing desperate. “It might take me weeks to find someone who was there recently before it shut down, and my publisher wants the story by this weekend! Please, Crutchie, I’ll owe you one.”

Her words, though well-intended, were like lashes on his back. He fumbled for though, pushing through memories of cruel voices, and the knock of his head against concrete. A bat against his leg, and the ache of an empty stomach, and the rotten stench of sweat and vomit and blood and overflowing chamber pots. _Chamber pots_. A few of the older boys had thought it would be funny to force his head into one, and afterwards he had had no access to water, so he’d had to remain decomposing in his own vile reek for days. Eventually, one of the guards had gagged at the smell of him and hosed him down like a mutt, but even then, he’d had no towels or dry clothes, so he had shivered for two days and then gotten sick.

It had been a seemingly never-ending nightmare of senseless attacks, and guards who had taken the job specifically to take advantage of young boys with no power, and being forced to stand on his bad leg for hours at a time until it ached.

And even then, all he had thought about was Jack. The thought of being rescued, the cruel fantasy of being free at last was like being trapped in his own bubble, keeping him going at all times. It had been like the rest of world was muted, and he had let whatever happened to him happen knowing that one day he would be reunited with his friends, and...and Jack. Who was also his friend.

Now, he had no fantasy to cling on to. He was free, and he was safe, and he was surrounded by friends at all times, yet the Refuge still haunted his every peaceful moment. It was like rotting fruit that someone had left hidden in the boarding house, causing the whole building to stink up before someone found it. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Snyder hovering above him, his crutch in hand, and he couldn’t speak about it without hyperventilating. So he didn’t.

“I can’t,” he said, more firmly this time.

Her whole face dropped. “Crutchie—”

“ _No_ ,” he snapped, his voice shrill. “You dunno what it was like. It—it ain’t some...some _horror story_  what people to get their kicks from, it’s my life.”

He was overreacting. He was being dramatic. Jack talked about it all the time...well, he talked about his _escape_.

“I’m—”

“You ain’t never had a rough day in your life, Katherine _Pulitzer_ ,” the vicious tone in his voice when he spoke her name had scared even him, “of course you ain’t got a problem writin’ about it.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Jack said lowly, a tone of warning, but Crutchie was too worked up, too wired, too upset.

“You try bein’ beaten every single—” he choked up, and unable to finish, he grabbed his crutch and rose. Everyone in the room was silent now, watching, waiting.

She stood and caught hold of his arm. “Crutchie, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—”

“ _Don’t touch me_ ,” he yelled, his mind fizzing with the memories of defending himself from unwanted hands and fists. He yanked his own arm back with vigor, sending her stumbling a little. A few shocked whispers ran through the room. Both Jack and Davey stood, going to her side, and Crutchie watched as the three of them stared at him in horror.

He didn’t wait for them to say anything, hobbling to the stairs, blinking tears back and fleeing to the dorms. He thought about climbing into his own bed and crawling under the covers, but over fifty of them slept in that room. Anyone could walk in and disturb him. It was lashing outside and he would catch his death if he went up to the penthouse. Besides, he couldn’t exactly go back down the stairs now. That left Jack’s room. Well, it wasn’t _his, technically_. He only rented it by the night when it was too cold or wet to sleep on the roof, and only if he had some cash to spare (which was a lot more often, now that he had gotten his fancy new job). He had never liked to sleep in a room with others, bar Crutchie. Perhaps that was one of _his_ scars from the refuge.

Crutchie knew that Jack had been in the room earlier, which meant it was probably open. He let Crutchie sleep on the floor there, sometimes, so he felt no hesitance to open the door to Jack’s room. He was about to close the door behind him and flop down onto the bed when he heard footsteps storming up the stairs.

He cursed internally as Jack peaked into the newsies' dorm, before spotting him in the doorway.

“What the hell’s the matter with you!” he gritted out, storming into his room and shutting the door behind them.

Crutchie’s eyes felt tired. He didn’t have the energy to fight, but the bitterness in his chest drove him to snap, “Nothin’! It ain’t none of your business, it’s between me and Katherine. Why do you even _care_ , anyhow?”

“Because you was rude to ‘er, that’s why!” Jack spat after a moment or two of looking taken aback. “What’s got into you, Crutchie, you been like the damn Antichrist for months! She didn’t mean no harm and you know it.”

Crutchie stared at him in silence for several beats, his tongue tied into ribbons. Rain pelted against the window, and either someone was thumping on the floor with a broomstick from below, or that was Crutchie’s heart. He knew that he was being unfair, that his lash of temper was to no fault of Katherine’s. She hadn’t known what kind of memories she was triggering, she had just been excited to write an article.

He had always really liked her too, until—well. She had gotten between two best friends. And as much as Crutchie hated that part of himself, he was jealous. Jealous, because while he had been locked away, facing beatings, being starved, enduring names and slurs and what seemed to be genuine hatred toward cripples, Jack had fallen in love. Jack had been too busy being whisked away into a riot and a whirlwind romance to even _think_ of him, and that made Crutchie’s blood boil.

Of course he knew that that wasn’t the full story. Jack had written him, and even come to visit him. He hadn’t _completely_ forgotten about him. But still. That was how Crutchie felt sometimes. When he had finally been set free from the Refuge, all he had wanted Jack to do was greet him with a hug, and a pat on the back, or maybe a play-punch or two. A whisper in his ear that he was safe now. Instead, he had dipped Katherine low and kissed her with way too much tongue right in front of everyone. Crutchie had grinned and jeered, because it seemed like the right thing to do, but his stomach had dropped in a way that had left him feeling lost and confused and guilty for days.

 _His_ Jack. _His_ best friend. The Jack that was going to whisk him away to paradise in Santa Fe, the Jack that had been his one and only beacon of hope as he lay, dark and bruised and tear-stained in prison. The Jack that made him laugh, made him giddy and light, and had forgotten about him.

Crutchie was being dramatic. Jack hadn’t _forgotten_ about him. He had just found a lover. That’s what all best friends do, that was what all the boys said. Your best friend is yours until they find someone who can give them what you can’t. Then you’re second best. Well, at least Crutchie was used to being second best.

“It don’t matter, okay? I’ll say sorry in the mornin’.”

It was a dismissive statement, meant to signal for Jack to leave, but he didn’t budge.

“You gotta talk about it sometime, Crutchie. You’re hurtin’, everyone can see it. You ain’t gotta put up no...happy, shiny front for us. And if you ain’t gonna talk, then...don’t be takin’ it out on the others!”

His voice was softer than several moments earlier, but it was still firm. Crutchie was sick of fighting. He wanted to sit down, and make up, and have Jack wrap his arms around him and tell him it was going to be alright. Jack hadn’t done much like that since Katherine. Why hug someone for comfort when you had someone else to kiss you too? Crutchie wasn’t sure why the thought of Jack and Katherine kissing made him feel so ill.

“Nothin’s wrong, Jack! Can’t a guy just be in a slump? Am I allowed to do that? Can’t I be a bad person every once in a while?”

“No,” Jack snapped, “because you is _not_ a bad person. You can be in a slump, sure, but don’t take it out on Kathy, she ain’t done nothin’ to ya!”

“ _I know_ ,” Crutchie whined, exasperated and trying to keep his voice down. “I said I’m sorry! Christ, if I knew how protective you was over your girl I wouldn’t even a’ looked at ‘er, never mind spoken to ‘er!”

Jack used to be that protective over _him_. He forced that thought out of his brain.

Jack pursed his lips, contemplating Crutchie’s words. Crutchie was winded, his shoulders shaking and his face impossibly warm. Usually he tried to avoid verbal conflict at all costs. The reason being that he could rarely stand insulting someone he cared for without instantly feeling the urge to apologize. He stood his ground this time, and sunk down onto the bed.

“She ain’t my girl no more,” Jack said then, and Crutchie knew in an instant that the fight was over. His eyes widened, and his stomach gave a sick jump of satisfaction. Yet another thing he had to feel guilty about.

“What?”

Jack sighed, and sat down next to him, placing his own hands on his knees. “She ended it with me about a week ago. She said it wasn’t what she thought it was gonna be.”

Crutchie stared at him, his eyes still impossibly wide. “Jack, why didn’t ya _tell_ me?”

Jack shrugged non-committally, still refusing to look at him. “Didn’t wanna make it a big thing, I guess. I wasn’t exactly too roughed up about it either, y’know? It wasn’t really what I thought it was gonna be either.”

Crutchie frowned. God, but why did he feel like grinning? Why was he such a terrible person? “Whadaya mean?”

Jack shrugged again, before removing his cap and running a hand through his hair. “I dunno, Crutchie. I thought it was gonna be _fun_ , bein’ with such a cool girl. But it was just so much _work_. I had to go to all these stupid fancy events, and dress all nice, and comb my hair—and when we was together, she got all grossed out whenever I did shit like belch, ‘n stuff—even if it was a really good one!”

A sympathetic smile played on Crutchie’s lips. “How good we talkin’ here?”

“Like an eight outta ten!”

Crutchie let out a long, low, whistle. “How could a gal not be impressed by an eight outta ten?”

Jack snorted, and bumped him on the shoulder with his own. “See what I mean? I thought it was gonna be like bein’ with you, or any a’ the other guys, but a dame instead, but it wasn’t. I guess I just wanted to be with someone. Anyway, she wasn’t happy either. She said I was ‘distant’ and ‘immature’, and she used some other words too, that I ain’t even gonna _try_ pronounce.”

Crutchie’s heart was pounding. _I thought it was gonna be like bein’ with you_. Had Jack thought about _being_ with him? Like _that_? Is that what he had meant, or was Crutchie just reading into his words wrong? But that was...that was _queer_. He had seen newsies beaten to a pulp for being with, or kissing, or touching other boys. It was...illegal. So why did the thought of Jack thinking about being with him give him butterflies, rather than nausea?

Jack didn’t seem to realize he had said anything out of the ordinary, because he was staring at Crutchie inquisitively.

“You okay, pal?”

Crutchie gulped and nodded, staring down at his knees. “So then...if you ain’t together no more, then why’d ya get so uptight about her earlier?”

Jack sighed. “Well first of all, you was rude as hell. Second of all, she’s one of us, y’know? She’s part of the gang now, and I didn’t...I dunno, I guess I didn’t want ‘er to feel like everyone was turnin’ on ‘er because she dumped me. That’d feel pretty rough, probably.”

Crutchie nodded, guilt bubbling up inside of him. He’d been a real asshole, hadn’t he? He wanted to nudge Jack’s knee with his own, but then stopped himself at the last minute without even fully knowing why.

“Hey, I’m sorry how. That you got dumped.”

Jack shot him a crooked smile. “Don’t be. It ain’t like me and her ain’t still friends. And this way I can spend more time with the guys.” He thumped Crutchie on the shoulder, and in retaliation, Crutchie punched him in the leg.

“Ow,” Jack hissed through a grin. “Bastard.”

They both slid back on the bed so that their backs were right against the wall, their legs dangling off the edge. One of Crutchie’s was twisted sadly to the side in defeat.

“So, you wanna tell me what’s goin’ on with you now?” Jack said then.

“Not really,” Crutchie answered. Truth be told, he didn’t even know himself what he was feeling right now. A strange mixture of giddiness and despair.

Jack shot him a sad look. “You want a hug?”

 _Yes_ , Crutchie thought immediately. Jack had always been very physical. It was one of the things that had drawn Crutchie to him in the first place; When you’re a lonely orphan with no one to show you even a touch of affection, finding someone who will hold you while you cry, and not try to take advantage of you is like striking gold in the sewers. Jack had always held him, and slung an arm around his shoulder, and brushed his thumb over his hand when he was feeling down, but it felt like so long since he had just hugged him.

And yet. Whatever kind of feelings Crutchie was having right now were not normal. It was probably best to avoid touching Jack right now.

“I dunno...” he said, because outright rejecting him might hurt both of them.

Jack frowned, and mulled it over. “Then, can I have one?”

Crutchie looked up and squinted at him. “Why do _you_ want one?”

Jack plastered a look of despair onto his face. “Because I got dumped! I’m devastated!” He could barely keep a straight face for more than a second, breaking out into a cheeky grin.

“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes and grinning. “You know I can’t say no to that face.” The statement was only a half-joke.

He expected to be the one to hug Jack, but Jack was quicker than he was, wrapping his arms around Crutchie before he could get a word in edgewise. And it felt so nice. Touching Jack was like putting on an old sweater. It was familiar, and warm, and so _easy_. He didn’t have to worry about his nervous, ticking heart, or fumbling hands, or knocking heads—they were past that already. Jack pulled him in tight, hugging him to the side with both arms around him, and Crutchie immediately felt all of the tension sink out of his shoulders.

He reached his hands up to gently touch the arms wrapped around his chest, leaning his head on Jack’s shoulder. He smelled of cheap cologne masking sweat, and newspaper ink, and the gum he had been chewing all day. Crutchie silently breathed it in, shutting his eyes. In the Refuge, this is what he had dreamed of. Being held and cradled by Jack like everything was going to be okay, breathing him in, shuddering breath out, wishing he could somehow get closer to him, but not knowing how.

Was he queer? If that was what his feelings for Jack meant, then maybe, yeah.

There was the guilt again. He was taking advantage of Jack and he knew it. His friend had no idea what a seemingly innocent hug meant for him. Crutchie pulled back a little, still in his arms, but looking up at him now.

Jack was handsome, he noted. He had always thought so, even as a little kid. Jack Kelly had a sort of boyish charm—the crooked smile, the arrogant, kind eyes, the mussed up hair, the broad width of his shoulders, the singsong lilt to his voice, the callouses of his hands—Crutchie had always thought he wanted to be like him, not...

Now he was content to only look at him.

Jack was looking back, the lines on his forehead prevalent. There was a single grey hair at his temple that caught the light. Crutchie wasn’t surprised he was greying so young, after everything he had been through. Jack’s eyes were darting all around his face, and he looked so damn confused.

_Probably wonderin’ why I’m just starin’ at him. Pull it together, Charlie._

Crutchie opened his mouth to speak, to say anything to break the silence, but as he did so, Jack’s eyes darted down to his lips, and back up to meet his eyes. It knocked the air out of Crutchie’s lungs.

Before he could think any better of it, he leaned up and kissed Jack square on the mouth, his stomach riddled with butterflies. _This_ was the closer he had been craving, he realized. He had never actually kissed anyone before, so he had nothing to compare it to, and the angle was a little awkward, but _god_ , it was _wonderful_.

Then, he realized that Jack had gone rigid against him. _Then_ , he fully realized what he was doing. Crutchie had never moved so fast in his life. He shot backwards to the other end of the bed, as far away from Jack as he could get with out falling right off. Jack was staring at him with a bright red face, wide eyes, and a slightly parted mouth.

_A mouth I just kissed._

Crutchie ran a hand over his mouth, as if to wipe his mistake away. God, what had he just _done_? Jack wasn’t...Jack wasn’t _like_ him. He’d probably just ruined their friendship for good, and that was a _best case_ scenario. Crutchie turned with his back to the wall, staring blankly to the other side of the room, eyes still wide. Jack did the same.

“Sorry,” he whispered then, for lack of better words. “I’m so, so, _so_ sorry.”

“Woah?” was all Jack said then, a little breathlessly.

“I ain’t no homo, y’know? I-I dunno what I was _thinkin’_.”

“You kissed me,” Jack said quietly. “Someone who ain’t a homo wouldn’t a’ kissed me.”

Crutchie groaned in anguish, pulling his knees up to his chin. “I said I was sorry, okay?”

“Crutchie,” Jack croaked, turning to face him again. He looked as exasperated as he sounded. “Why ain’t ya _told_ me?”

Crutchie covered the top of his head with his arms, trying to make himself as small as possible. Christ, what had he done? “I didn’t know.”

“ _Ya didn’t know?_ ”

“Yeah, I didn’t know!” Crutchie snapped then, sitting up to face him. “I didn’t know _that’s_ what all those feelin’s meant! I’m sorry, I just—I just did it before I knew what I was doin’! I ain’t even thought about kissin’ you ever!”

Jack frowned ever-so-slightly. “ _Ever_ ever?”

Crutchie’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Never! Why you even askin’ that?”

Jack shrugged, crossing his arms and sitting back against the wall. He seemed perplexed by something.

_Probably wondering how he never realized his best friend was a fairy._

“I thought everyone thought about it, once or twice. Outta curiosity, y’know?”

Crutchie snorted, despite himself, desperate to dispel the tension. “I don’t think so? Maybe _you’re_ the homo, Jack.”

Jack didn’t laugh. “Maybe I is,” he said, barely above a whisper. He was studying a loose threat on his trouser seam.

Crutchie balked, shoving down the hope that arose from his words.

“Nah, you ain’t no homo. You’s the biggest ladies man I know!”

Jack shook his head, looking up at him again. “Then why do I wanna kiss you again, huh?”

Crutchie’s whole body felt like it was on fire. _Jack wanted to kiss him again_.

“What?”

“I dunno,” Jack ran a hand over his mouth, “I...I guess I am curious. And I didn’t hate it, and I ain’t really sure what that means, y’know? Like, I ain’t no pansy or nothin’, but...kissin’ you felt...kinda _nice_ , Charlie.”

Had Crutchie been standing, his knees would have buckled.

It was wrong. It was horrible. If anyone ever found out, Crutchie was sure he wouldn’t live to see the morning, and neither would Jack, probably. But damn, if Crutchie didn’t want to kiss him again too. If he didn’t want Jack to kiss him with too much tongue, like he had seen him do to Katherine, like he had seen other newsies do to _their_ girls. If he didn’t want to run his hands through Jack’s hair, and bite his jaw, and—

“You can, if you wanna,” he said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

Jack’s eyebrows shot up, as though he was actually _surprised_ that Crutchie couldn’t resist him. He knew it would break his heart, if it turned out that Jack didn’t _actually_ enjoy kissing him the second time around, and that it had only been mere curiosity talking. Still, his own selfish wants were clouding all sensibility, and he felt as though every moment of his life spent without Jack’s lips on his own had been a complete waste of time.

“Really? You...you sure?”

“Only if you wanna,” Crutchie replied, his voice wavering. He hoped Jack couldn’t tell how nervous he was. He probably could. Probably definitely.

Jack scooted over to him. “You ain’t gonna tell no one, right?”

The words were sensible, but they still made Crutchie’s heart sink. It was ridiculous, because he knew no one could know that they had kissed, but it still made him feel so _ashamed_. Made him feel like Jack was ashamed of him.

“Right,” he affirmed quietly.

“Good,” Jack said, placing a shaky hand on his knee and absently grazing his thumb over it. “’Cos I don’t want neither of us gettin’ in trouble over this. Wouldn’t want us to be sharin’ a jail cell at night, ‘stead of a rooftop.”

It was a serious statement, but the soft amusement in his voice made Crutchie grin anyway. He scooted closer to Jack this time.

“Jack Kelly, since when’re _you_ worried about breakin’ the law?”

Jack faked a gasp. “How _dare_ you, good sir, _I_ is a law-abiding citizen.”

Cutchie stared at him, still grinning. Everything was so easy with him.

Jack blinked at him, a soft smile gracing his lips. _Those lips_. “That’s when I used to wonder ‘bout kissin’ you.”

Crutchie stilled. “When?”

“When you was lookin’ at me like that.”

A sharp intake of breath was the only sound that filled the room, bar the pelting of rain against glass. “Kiss me now, Jack,” he breathed.

Without skipping a beat Jack raised his hand and gingerly tilted Crutchie’s chin up with the crook of his index finger. Crutchie wanted to keep his eyes open until they met, figured it would look silly if he closed them before Jack leaned in, but then Jack brushed a thumb over his bottom lip, and Crutchie’s eyelids fluttered closed anyway. A moment later, he felt a pair of lips close down on his, and knowing they were Jack’s, that _Jack Kelly was kissing him_ , bloomed flowers in his chest.

It took a moment before either of them moved, too afraid to make any sudden gestures in case it snapped either of them out of it. Crutchie could feel the pulse in his own throat, could feel Jack’s light touch on his chin. He wasn’t sure what to do next, waiting for Jack to take the lead. Jack pressed their lips more firmly together then, and Crutchie felt his hand move from touching his chin to cupping his jaw, his thumb stroking his cheek ever-so-slightly.

As if by instinct, Crutchie tilted his head, and so did Jack, moving their lips together slowly with a tilt of the chin each time, and it was that easy. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but kissing him felt like second nature. It was also doing _incredible_ things to his body. Crutchie was feeling tingles in his toes, which was unexpected.

Crutchie’s hands, which had been idle, pressed against his chest, and Jack brought another hand to touch the back of his neck before raking his fingers through Crutchie’s hair, sending a shiver down his spine. Crutchie pulled back to breathe and calm down, not even separating their faces as he did so.

“Do you wanna stop?” Jack asked, breath warm against his mouth.

“ _No_ ,” Crutchie replied immediately, not at all surprised by how desperate he sounded.

Crutchie recaptured his lips with a breathless hum, kissing deeper than before, pressing his whole torso flush against Jack’s. Jack’s two hands were in his hair now, with the same enthusiasm as he did everything else. Crutchie’s whole insides felt like liquid. Jack let out a quiet, barely-there moan against his lips.

There was a knock at the door. They both froze.

“Jack? You in there?”

Jack was already standing before Davey had finished speaking, and he shot Crutchie a regretful look as he smoothed out his hair, placing his cap back on. Crutchie did the same, ruffling his hair back into place and wiping his mouth clean of spit. Jack opened the door,

Davey looked unsurprised to see Crutchie sitting on the bed, but he still addressed Jack with a cautious demeanor. “Is everything alright?”

“We’re fine,” Jack said, and god, his voice sounded so husky. He cleared his throat. “Thanks, Dave.”

“Okay,” Davey said. “Well, I just wanted to let you know that Katherine’s leaving now.” He didn’t even look at Crutchie, but he could tell he was addressing the words to him.

“Uh, could you tell her to wait?” Crutchie said, then. “I need to talk to ‘er.”

Davey actually looked surprised as he backed out of the doorway, nodding. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”

“We’ll be down in a minute,” Jack said, before closing the door behind him.

“Jack?” Crutchie said then, grabbing his crutch from the floor and standing. “Are we...um...was that...?”

Jack approached him, taking him by the shoulders. “We is gonna talk about it later, okay? In full. Don’t worry about it right now. You should talk to Katherine.”

Crutchie nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

He was about to start for the door when Jack pressed another chaste, hesitant kiss to his lips. An irrepressible smile bloomed on Crutchie’s face where the kiss had been.

“C’mon,” Jack said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> hi i just wanna say i love katherine plumber with my whole soul i would sell my house for her and I know she was mistreated in this fic but that was through no fault of her own:(
> 
> also my main blog is @demheter and my musical sideblog is @highfemmeregina


End file.
